


echoes in eternity

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Violence, Graphic sexual imagery, M/M, Master/Pet, Mild Hurt/Comfort, On BOTH SIDES, Porn With Plot, Scar Worship, Sexual Coercion, [in a way], arena battles, oral sex in the shower, sponsorship of champions, the porn that grew a plot, thor ragnarok meets blade runner, with eventual consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-16 23:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: All of this should be entertaining, but Credence does not care for such elaborate shows of strength.Normally, he prefers the fights he watches to be over fast; the bloodier and the quicker the better.Dragging out a fight is equally tiresome as being at a dinner party, or a board meeting with his company trustees.The announcer's voice booms out through the artificial speech enhancer, and Credence’s ears perk up.Someone out for redemption. A man with a haunted past. Percival Graves. Why does that name sound so familiar?"...a Contender."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edvic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edvic/gifts), [brain_curry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brain_curry/gifts).

> and so starts the semi longest fic i've written all year, in two years, in a while, mainly originally with no real direction but a general idea of story beats i wanted to hit.  
then i find out my dear friend loves the movie Gladiator, the visuals of which this [and also big thanks to Blade Runner 2049] was based on, so this is now his very very very belated birthday present.  
eddie, I hope you like it <3
> 
> with accompanying illustrations by the ever wonderful and oh so talented Akira aka Brain_Curry on twitter, please give her love.
> 
> chapter number is unknown, the scenes are broken as they are, with POV shifts. hopefully that's not Too much a turn off lol.

* * *

Credence is so very bored already, the morning passing with the annoying slowness of a viper victim who just won’t die. Spared from the harsh rays of the sun by his extensive canopy and luxe seats in the skybox observing the fighting arena, as his privileged status allows, he has been unimpressed so far by the lineup of potential champions. 

First there have been twins, red haired and ferocious, while at the start of their introduction each of them pretend to be jokesters, before shortly demonstrating they can be deadly as well, whipping out daggers the length of Credence’s arms, swiping at the fighters who dare challenge them. They are… alright. 

Then another pair of fighters, one short and stout, with a loud yell, who seems to prefer jumping and darting around his potential battle partners, followed by a tall slender man with brown hair who fights entirely silent, taking precise steps and then slashes. All of this should be entertaining, but Credence does not care for such elaborate shows of strength. 

Normally, he prefers the fights he watches to be over fast; the bloodier and the quicker the better. 

Dragging out a fight is equally tiresome as being at a dinner party, or a board meeting with his company trustees. 

The announcer's voice booms out through the artificial speech enhancer, and Credence’s ears perk up. 

Someone out for redemption. A man with a haunted past.  _ Percival Graves. _ Why does that name sound so familiar? 

He looks over the edge of the balcony, sipping from his champagne flute, but eyeing the dirt floor intently.

Although the man has a sunburnt chest, the rest of him is entirely golden, miles of tanned skin, with clear evidence of hard labor in his muscles, the way he walks, a determined air. His heavy brows furrow as he gazes up at the crowds, eyes flicking over each clump of seats, before reaching the spot where Credence perches, intently staring down into the pit. 

“After losing his entire fortune to defend himself from false accusations by the mind and identity thief Grindelwald, Graves is here to fight his way back up to the top. Who will sponsor such an intimidating potential warrior?” 

Credence doesn’t even have to think about it, as the man’s heated glare burns its way through him, he tilts his glass forward, then raises his forefinger. The crowd falls to a hush, from scattered applause to total silence in a split second.

Credence takes a long, slow, calculating look at the man, all under the pretense of examining his form and stance. 

He remembers now, why this story stuck out to him. His sisters were reading the news, and mentioned that it was rather terrifying that identity theft was still any sort of tangible threat, despite how far their technological society has advanced. In truth, he’s drinking in the sight of such raw power, held just barely in check, going off the tightness of Graves’ jaw.

The man has chosen to be shirtless, clad in only a grey half toga, clipped ‘round his waist by a black leather belt.

Thanks to that level of undress, Credence can  _ just _ make out the cut of his hip bones, as sweat darkens the front of the fabric, the man begins to turn, well aware he’s on display, holding up his sword and shield as if in mockery to him, demanding that he look his fill. Credence swallows thickly, clenching his teeth, fighting the urge to snap something at Graves, to display his irritation at such arrogant behaviour, but he keeps himself in check. 

The hairstyle Graves wears is undeniably created to make him appear that much more aggressive, no longer the disgraced former nobleman, entirely different from the picture splashed in the news article. He now has the sides shaved, the long dark grey strands from the crown curling over his brow, while his unshaven face all but masks his tight lipped expression. 

Credence drinks the rest of his champagne, before setting the empty glass down, and holding out his hand, fingers curling slightly towards himself. “What say you, Graves? Will you accept my patronage?” 

He smirks as the man walks forward, sheathing his sword in favor of going into a deep bow, dropping to one knee, lowering his head, before his face snaps back up towards the skybox, and his eyes pierce Credence’s soul once more. 

“Yes, my lord, I will serve you, with pleasure.” If he didn’t sound so bitterly angry, Credence might even believe him. 

The announcer booms again, repeating what has just transpired. 

For the first time all morning, Credence no longer feels the heavy hands of boredom caressing his skull. 

His closest friend in the entire world, Nagini, leans forward to whisper in his ear, her soft accent a feast for the senses, no matter who is the recipient of her wise words. 

“Excellent choice there, Cre, but don’t tell me you only want him for his fighting skills.” 

He sits back in his chair and looks away from Graves, though it takes no small effort to tear his gaze from that skin, gleaming with sweat from exertion. “Well, no, perhaps not.” Credence says, voice clipped, before he licks his lips, and waves a hand, summoning another drink. 

Nagini’s soft laugh is anything but restrained, and she joins him in having a second round. 

The day is far from over, but Credence now looks forward to the end of it for more reasons than out of sheer relief. 

* * *

  
  


The rich brat may have bought his loyalty, but Percival has no intentions of being treated like another trained pet or servant like the boy is surely used to. He’s there to win his freedom and claw back his title, no matter the cost. 

Percival doesn’t care who he has to slay in the arena, he’s never going to be content until he’s back on top, living in the elite circles. It may not make his families legacy proud that he’s taken on such a bloodthirsty method of revenge, but he doesn’t care. Both his parents are dead anyway, so they don’t have to bear the shame of it like he does.

Percival is out to glean the resources needed to hunt Grindelwald down, and slit his throat, after some much needed torture has been dished out in return. Percival grunts as he’s prodded forward, guided to climb into the electric chariot that will take him to the Estate of the aptly named Goldstein family. He’s got cuffs on both wrists, chained together with ankle restraints, just in case he should try to make a break for it, in between travelling from the chariot to the house. 

Every single inch of the house, their virtual palace, is dripping with gold. It’s rather unnecessary, a vulgar display of wealth, but Percival supposes they have no other way to wield their power immediately. 

It’s how they choose to intimidate people upon arrival to their estate. He grinds his teeth for a moment, before remembering he’s supposed to present a cowed image, an air of gratitude. 

This is where he’ll be spending the next few months of his life, so he ought to at least attempt to be polite, he knows.

Percival has been  _ saved _ from the stocks, from having to continue residing in the horribly overcrowded and disgusting arena barracks. If there was any place one would be likely to catch a knife in the back, or worse, in the gut, that was it. 

Once inside of the Goldstein’s home, Percival walks as slowly as he’s allowed, sneering internally at every piece of the architecture, only to be caught slipping up, expressing actual displeasure at his surroundings, by one of the other residents. She looks like the sort of woman who seems to draw inspiration from snakes, as she carries one reverently around her shoulders, with another immortalized on her dress’s neckline, carved from jade and trimmed in gold. For anyone else, it would be an excuse to stare at her decolletage, for Percival, he doesn’t much care. He’s never found ladies appealing.

“Don’t look so sour, Mister Graves. You’re being welcomed into one of the most luxurious estates in the Capitol.” 

She says, and Percival does nothing but raise a single eyebrow in her direction. “Your host and savior is coming.” 

The pale and delicately featured woman continues, before sweeping past him with a tiny smirk on her red lips. 

Percival swallows the grumble that tries to climb out of his throat, a knee jerk response to the label she gives the young spoiled boy who has decided to throw money at his fights. Sponsor is far from  _ savior _ in his mind. But what does he know?

Everything stops as the boy himself rounds the corner, and sees the entourage of guards flanking Percival as he makes his way through the mansion. “What’s this? Why is he in chains? Free my champion. Let him enjoy his new home.” He says.

Percival holds out his hands to the guards, smirking at them as they do as they’ve been bid by their master. 

He glances over to the Goldstein heir, considering if he should thank him, or continue the silent treatment. 

But as he approaches even closer, invading Percival’s personal space, he finds his throat going dry regardless. 

Named Credence, after one of the virtues that encompasses one’s belief in or acceptance of something as true, the boy looks anything  _ but _ virtuous. All but naked except for a sheer floral printed tunic, the collar of which gapes to reveal bare skin dusted with dark hair, as a necklace made of white gold dips down out of sight underneath said tunic. 

Whether or not his glasses are an aesthetic choice or to showcase more wealth via white gold there as well, Graves isn’t certain, because surely if the Goldsteins could afford anything, surely advanced lasik eye surgery would fall into that category, to correct any possible vision issues.

Either way, Credence presents an intimidating air, even as he’s granting Percival virtual freedom inside of his estate. 

Dark hair swoops down over pale cheeks, not so much as looked at nor even kissed by the sun, in harsh contrast to Percival’s battle weary skin. “Come, come, walk with me. Let me give you the tour.” The boy says, offering his arm, which Percival simply glares at for a moment, before he then shakes his head, declining as politely as he dares. 

Credence gazes down at him, as it becomes obvious the height disparity between them, despite the lack of an arena, Percival is a couple inches shorter than the boy. “Take, my,  _ arm.” _ Credence says, as Percival begins to understand the low undertone of a threat, the ache in his jaw returns. “As you wish.” He replies. 

The ‘tour’ of the estate isn’t exactly boring, though it becomes overtly clear to be yet another show of power, as Percival takes in the high electrified fences framing the lush spread of a lawn, as well as the numerous trained splice dogs led around by guards, ready to pounce on any intruder, or potential escapee. He doesn’t even pay much attention to the pool, despite the enticing glimmer of sunlight on the clear blue water. For some reason, the central garden holds more beauty.

They come to a stop at the end of a long hallway, and Percival eyes the interior, shocked at how understated yet lavish it is. “Is this where I am to be staying?” He asks, and Credence smirks. “Not at all. This is my quarters. I want you to become familiar with it, should I call for you. You will know exactly where to go.” 

Percival’s eye twitches, and he wants to roll them in annoyance, but Credence is watching him very closely, so he merely blinks them repeatedly, trying to make the urge go away, before smiling tightly. 

“Of course.” that’s all he can get out through clenched teeth, as the boy smiles. 

“Graves is equipped with all the knowledge he needs to be a model guest. He is prepared to provide you with certain extracurricular activities, a privilege of being his sponsor.” One of the guards pipes up, oh so helpfully. 

Percival groans internally. Credence’s confident expression falters, to his surprise, and he coughs quietly. 

“Oh really? Like what? Can you give me a massage, oil my feet, or read to me before bed?”

Percival turns to see the guard’s expression turning a bit smug, and his stomach turns. 

“He can do anything for you that you deem necessary to maintain  _ your _ peace of mind, my lord.” 

Credence’s gaze flicks from Percival to the guard and back to him again. “I see. Well, we’ll discuss that when the time comes. For now, I’m sure you would like a chance to clean up and lie down, is that accurate?” 

Percival nods, staying tight lipped. 

Credence turns to the guards and waves them away with a shooing motion one might use on a dog who’s done being fed. 

“Run along now, I have no further use for you here. Feel free to resume your duties on the estate.” After their footsteps finally disappear around the bend of the hallway, Percival looks to Credence, finding that a smirk curves onto his lips. 

“Alone at last.” He says, and Credence, apparently too shocked at him speaking of his own accord, doesn’t correct him at the lack of a titled address. “Yes, we are.” the boy answers, sounding a touch hesitant.

Percival shrugs his shoulders, feeling the weight of sweat and grime on his skin, 

“So, where might I be excused for the  _ privilege _ of bathing?” He all but sneers at Credence, emphasizing the word, as the boy balks, before swallowing. 

The movement of his pale throat doesn’t fluster Percival, though he does file the mental image away for later. 

His sponsor is nothing short of flawless in his beauty, highly unattainable, yet clearly someone who the Old Graves would have sought out for momentary pleasure, through heated summer nights, perhaps even during icy winter days. 

“I suppose you could use my chambers, so that I might get an idea of what I’m paying for.” Credence finally says, once again maintaining the status quo, taking back the power of the moment, putting Percival off guard. “I see.” He replies. 

“I’m sorry,  _ slave _ , what was that?” Credence snaps at him, irritation obvious. 

Percival grimaces. “Thank you, my  _ lord _ .” He somehow manages to make it sound like a curse, as bile curdles in his throat, oh how he despises having to address the boy as his better. 

The way Credence had said  _ slave _ was far too comfortably. 

He’s spoiled, used to getting his way, and Percival is already sick of it.

Percival trails behind Credence a  _ respectful _ distance, as he’s lead towards the boy’s bathing suite, given little to no direction as to how he is supposed to start up the water, to retrieve soap. 

Credence goes to his vanity table and sits down, facing Percival with obvious intent to watch the whole thing, treating it like some kind of show for his own amusement. The boy crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap, sharp jawline ajut, nose tilting in the air, eyes locked on Percival’s form. 

There Percival was thinking the real entertainment was to be his slaughtering of fellow warriors in the battle arena. 

How mistaken he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it's not obvious, here the Goldsteins include: Tina, Queenie, Credence, and Modesty. Nagini is a family friend... or is she???
> 
> :)
> 
> In future, certain chapter specific warnings and tags will appear here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not feeling good today pals, but why should you suffer because of my depression? answer, you shouldnt. enjoy

Though he maintains a businesslike expression, Credence is anything but calm as the man disrobes in front of him. 

So much of Graves’ body is already on display with his present attire, yet Credence’s face still goes hot as the rest of him is freed from beneath the half toga, that revealed flesh is as equally tanned as the rest of his skin. 

All that Credence can wonder is, does Graves practice his sparring entirely naked? 

How else could he be so perfectly golden bronzed _ everywhere _? 

Credence’s throat goes dry as he lets his gaze dip below Graves’ waist, taking in the sight of his nudity, dark swirls of hair trailing from his chest, stomach, and legs to meet in the middle, framing over his soft genitals. 

Graves is the epitome of masculine beauty, and Credence is short of breath as he watches when the man turns around, fumbling with the controls of the bath, adjusting the switches for controlling water temperature and soap infusions. 

His muscled back and tight buttocks are just as ruggedly attractive as the rest of him, and Credence finds that in answer to his rising body heat, his mouth now waters at the idea of getting so much as a taste of that flesh beneath his lips and tongue. It’s very frustrating to be the only virgin in his university class, and Credence thinks, impossibly, if Graves is there and able to answer to his every whim, perhaps that is one favor he might ask of the man. 

A massage might be nice too, but sex would be far more beneficial, for them both.

“I want you to please me, and in return, you shall want for nothing, on the battlefield, and off.” Credence chokes out, and Graves freezes, halfway through the motions of stepping into the clawfoot tub, to gaze back at him, his muscled body twisted elegantly, as if carved from marble like the statues of an ancient civilization. 

“Am I to begin doing so right now, or may I clean myself first?” Graves asks, voice soft, and low, tempered like the calm of a storm. Credence isn’t stupid, he knows that the man is angry at him, and with his life, as well as his current situation of being at someone’s beck and call. 

He remembers that the man is just shy of turning thirty-five, and Credence has barely seen his twenty-first sunrise. 

Frustrating or not, Graves made his choices, and fate’s hand has guided him to be where he is now. 

Just as Credence is much the same, born into his life, lucky chance though it may have been. 

“Of course, don’t let me distract you.” Credence opens his legs and recrosses them, doing his best to tuck away his arousal, hiding the fact that he’s on the verge of begging Graves to let him join his bath. 

He is not a spoiled brat by any means, despite what the man might think. 

Credence will gladly scrub the man’s shoulders, caress those broad chest muscles with a washrag, and would shampoo his hair, that is, what’s left of it from the harsh style. 

He wants to be worshipped, yes, but above all, he wants to be _ adored _ by his patrons. Not hated or feared. 

Graves is his first, of many, he hopes. 

“It’s far too late for that, my lord. Surely you must know your beauty is unparalleled by men or women.” Graves murmurs. Credence gulps, whether the man is lying by way of flattery, or being brutally honest, he’s not sure. 

Either way, he takes the compliment like a flower to the sun. His face warms, and his looks away from Graves. 

“Thank you.” Credence finally says, before disputing the man a second later. 

“But most people consider my sister Queenie to possess all the feminine beauty in the family. Tina and I share the masculine features, favoring each other so much, they call us the dark twins.” 

Graves snorts to himself quietly. “So I’ve heard.”

“Don’t lie to me. Before today, you didn’t know I existed.” Credence retorts, and the man laughs openly now.

“Touche, my lord, you are right. I suppose I shall stop trying to tell you what you expect of me. I won’t try to kill you, if you refrain from treating me like your prized pet. How’s that for a compromise?” Graves says. 

The words, though spoken lightly, chill Credence to the bone. 

He should report this to someone, and he should probably summon back a guard. 

Being left alone with Graves is far more dangerous than he originally thought, if he can threaten Credence so easily. 

Despite his best efforts, Credence’s voice trembles as he speaks, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

Graves flicks his hands across the water, sending some bubbles flying, having long since settled in the tub, facing him now, pushing one foot above the surface, his toes poking up through the clouds of further bubbles.

“I would not hesitate to slit your throat, if you got in my way, or decided to spend your time belittling and demeaning me.”

Graves’ eyes slide from his own hand, over to meet Credence’s agape expression, as he smirks. 

“Do we have an understanding?” the man asks him, and he frowns. 

Credence gets to his feet, then walks over to stand beside Graves, looming over him while withdrawing a dagger from the folds of his tunic, though sheer, it hides a number of weapons and secret compartments, as befitting an heir of his magnitude. “You are under my patronage, which I may withdraw at any _ moment _ , so no, we do not have an _ “understanding,” _ Mister Graves. You work for _ me _. I am not about to be cowed by your threats.” He knows his voice sounds shaky, but he doesn’t care. This is about reminding the man who holds the power in this… strange partnership.

Credence extends the dagger, pressing it to the man’s throat, and he tilts his head, letting the blade press harder into his flesh. From this angle, he takes in the way the man's chin is squared, with an elegantly chiseled jaw. Graves has a unique feature as well, one of his thick eyebrows is sliced diagonally, skin peeking through dark hair. A deadly scar of some kind. Credence has a burning curiosity to know the stories behind _ all _ of the scars on Graves' leanly muscled body.

However, in this moment, he balks, not intending to actually _ harm _ Graves, as he can see a bead of crimson beginning to form on the silver edge, he starts to withdraw, retreating back from the man, loosening his grip on the blade. 

* * *

* * *

In the blink of an eye, he finds himself unable to do more than gasp in shock as Graves moves, lightning fast, standing up in the tub to apply a hand to Credence’s wrist, like liquid iron, jerking the knife from the man’s neck and twisting his arm so that he is forced to drop the dagger onto the bathroom floor, missing his own foot by inches. 

“Do not bother trying to overpower me, _ boy _. It’s laughable. You have no chance against your prized warrior, or have you already forgotten how we met?” Graves hisses at him. 

Credence’s eyes widen in fear, for he knows crying out for help now is more than useless. 

The man could slap him across the face and knock him out cold, or simply tighten his grip and break his arm, dislocate his shoulder, any number of moves that would render him helpless in seconds, like the strike of a viper.

“I’m sorry… you’re right. I have behaved very foolishly. Please sir, don’t hurt me.” Credence whispers, and Graves’ hand goes slack, freeing him at once. He still stands there, panting with exertion, his body dripping water and suds, presenting what would normally be a hilarious image, instead projecting power and strength to Credence, who cradles his wrist in his other hand, wincing a little at the ache from his muscles. “I accept your apology. Fetch me a towel.” Graves says quietly, as once again, the warrior retreats. 

Credence would normally _ never _ allow himself to be ordered around like a servant, but for this man, for self preservation, he makes an exception. After handing Graves a fluffy folded white and gold trimmed terry cloth, he moves away to a safe distance once again, simply watching the man as he dries off.

Credence gulps a lungful of air, considering himself lucky, noting his mistakes. 

As Graves finishes up, expertly tucking the towel around his waist, he effortlessly hides his nudity once more. 

“What shall I wear to please you, my lord?” _ Nothing _, Credence’s brain supplies unhelpfully. 

He swallows that wicked thought down. 

Graves is a warrior for the arena, not some pleasure slave to be constantly objectified. 

Credence almost wishes the guard hadn’t ever brought up the topic of _ ‘extracurricular activities.’ _

“Only the best silks and fabric. Wait here, and I will gather some robes for you at once.” Credence takes a deep breath again, the second he’s out of the bathroom suite, clicking his fingers, summoning a servant, telling them what he needs. “At once, my lord.” They murmur, in high contrast to Graves, who seems to use Credence’s title as a weapon, rather than a term of proper address. He grits his teeth, and walks back into his inner chambers to find the man pacing around his bedroom, glancing towards first his desk, the row of bookshelves, packed with digital files, then taking in the sight of Credence’s enormous bed. It’s flanked with matching nightstands, one containing a variety of toys and supplies, the other with far more innocent contents. He swallows thickly, not sure if he’s ever going to be ready for _ that _ conversation.

* * *

“Nice digs.” Percival says, not entirely sarcastic. He watches the boy cautiously edge towards him again, his slightly smug, devil may care bratty attitude has been replaced with one of paranoia, along with a touch of awe. 

Percival does not regret his actions entirely, but he felt that he had little choice but to put Credence in his place, if only for a few precious seconds. “Yes, thank you. I rarely leave the estate unless absolutely necessary, for charity functions, work, or gladiator matches, of course.” Percival chuckles, “Ah, now that explains why you are so fair skinned, my lord.” 

Credence’s pale face goes pink from embarrassment, Percival presumes, though his words were far from an insult. 

Percival’s neck still stings from the little scratch the boy’s dagger gave him, and he makes no move to swipe at it, letting it bleed freely, if it decides to. He catches sight of his reflection in the massive mirror that hangs next to another door, presuming it to be the boy’s closet. Percival has never seen himself so clean in months. The bath truly did him wonders.

The door opens, and Credence jumps a little, pressing a hand delicately to his chest, before smiling gently at the servant girl who enters the room. “My lord, your sister Queenie suggested this for the warrior.” 

She holds out a dark bundle, and Percival takes it from her gratefully, giving a hint of a half smile. 

It’s a tunic made from navy silk, with a silver trim. 

He can almost _ feel _ the richness of the fabric as he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, tracing the trimming thread with a fingertip. The nostalgia that washes over him is nearly painful. This is exactly the sort of thing he grew up wearing.

“Thank you.” Percival says, not really addressing anyone in particular. 

Credence shoos the servant away, the boy’s fear of being alone with Percival apparently gone. “Go on, let’s see you in it.”

Percival hears the boy saying, so he reaches for his towel, flicking his wrist, undoing the elaborate tuck, letting it drop to the floor in a pool of white. As if he’s standing on a cloud. He doesn’t pay Credence so much as a single glance while he unfolds the tunic and tugs it on over his head. Once Percival is done, he smooths his hands down the front of it, and lifts his head, finding the boy staring at him, his elegantly formed jaw almost on the floor. 

“What do you think? Can I pass for a nobleman?” He asks, and Credence all but trips over his words in his haste to answer him. “My god, yes. You look wonderful.” 

Percival nods, “Thank you, my lord. This is a high compliment indeed from you.”

He enjoys the weight of Credence’s eyes on him a bit longer, before walking closer, his bare feet making it so that the boy is a full three inches taller than him, and Percival tilts his head again, gazing up at that angelic face. 

“So, your warrior is in refined wrapping. Will you be tearing into me now, my lord?” His voice holds a teasing lilt, though his nerves betray him. The idea of serving this boy in any manner besides on the battle arena somehow intimidates him. Percival has not let himself be intimate or grow close to anyone for years. 

As Credence licks his lips and stumbles over a response, Percival ramps up the seduction, letting his hand graze over the boy’s shoulder gently, fingertips sliding the collar of his tunic over, exposing more of his collarbone. 

“Well?” He tries again. Percival can already visualize where he’ll slot his mouth over that pale skin, to best leave marks and elicit noises of pleasure. But to his surprise, Credence shakes his head. “No. You are not just here to serve my desires. You are staying here for your health and well being. I’m sure you need rest. You may use my couch, or my bed, until such time as I require use of it. Good afternoon, Graves.” The boy actually appears to forcefully pull himself away from Percival’s touch, and promptly exits the room, leaving him standing there, clad in the finest attire, practically vibrating with aroused and nervous energy. He wants to curse the heavens. 

Instead, Percival simply walks over to the bed, and collapses onto the comfortable surface, fully clothed still. 

He wakes with a start, and realizes the sun has long set, the light streaming into the chambers is pure moonlight. 

Percival’s stomach growls, but he ignores it, having gone hungry more than one night in a row. All he really needs is to sate his thirst, so he staggers off the bed and makes for the bathing suite, pushing open the door. He acquires his target.

Percival is so intent on drinking from the sink that he entirely misses the fact he is not alone in the room. 

Credence jerks upright in the tub, having dozed off apparently, and Percival looks back at the sound of sloshing water.

“My lord.” He murmurs. The boy appears startled. “Graves. I had forgotten you were out there. Apologies if I woke you.”

Percival shakes his head. “I rose entirely of my own accord, a burning in my throat.” He finishes drinking from his cupped hand, and then wipes it off on his tunic, standing up straight, before then bowing in the boy’s direction. 

Credence is biting his bottom lip as Percival’s eyes land on him again, and he holds out a hand, “Please, hand me a towel.” He smirks. “Why should I, my lord? Do I not deserve the same opportunity to ogle you, as you did for me?” 

To say that Percival is pushing it, would be an understatement. However, Credence seems either unable to argue with him, or at least in a more lenient mood, as he is still concerned about being unarmed in his presence. 

Percival does not wish to lord his power over the boy again, although it does give him some leverage. It’s all he’s got.

“Very well.” Credence finally says, before pushing off the sides of the marble tub, standing up to allow the water to sluice off his body, pale skin on display in the moonlight which drapes over him like spun silver. 

Percival’s gaze covers the boy’s entire form, noting the exception to gleaming light, that is right in between his legs, where a dark thatch of perfectly trimmed hair all but enhances Credence’s groin, as opposed to hiding it. Percival’s smart remarks die on his tongue, as he takes in the length and girth of the boy’s cock, fully in repose, it’s more than substantial.

“Are you satisfied now, Mister Graves?” Credence asks, his voice breaking through the fog clouding Percival’s mind.

His rational thoughts are overwhelmed by a haze of arousal, and he walks towards the boy with jerky steps, hands fisting in his own tunic to keep them to himself. “No, not quite. Order me to kiss you.” He says, and Credence blinks, wide eyed, a newborn fawn trapped in a hunter’s snare. “What?” the boy’s voice is a hushed whisper, making Percival’s own prick ache, furthering his audacity. “I beg it of you.” He answers in a raspy tone, surely his own need is obvious. 

Credence’s throat moves, a quick swallow, illuminated by moonlight. “Why? I thought you considered it demeaning?”

Percival’s jaw clenches, and he holds up a hand, which makes the boy flinch. His palm extends, held flat, fingers lax.

“Please, don’t make me ask again.” He says. Credence’s gaze dips down to Percival’s hand, dark eyes widening with fear. “Will you hit me if I don’t?” 

Percival shakes his head. “I will do nothing of the kind. But I _ will _ pleasure myself in your bed, alone, if I have to.” 

Credence’s gasp is deafening in the near silence of the bathing suite, as he holds Percival’s fate in his own hands. 

“Mister Graves, kiss me.” the boy says, and finally, blessedly, Percival can move. 

His hand curves around the naked, still wet skin of Credence’s waist, and he leans up on his tiptoes to do just that. 

The boy summarily melts into him, the kiss tasting fresh, new and fumbling, like it might be his first, Percival thinks in shock, before all coherent thought vanishes, and he scoops Credence up into his arms, uncaring of the water dripping everywhere from the boy’s still soaked legs. Percival walks half blind out of the room, pausing to drop the boy onto his bed, amongst the messy sheets and blankets, thus ending the kiss in favor of more staring. 

“Now what, my lord?” Percival asks, breathing heavy, as Credence looks up at him, taking a hasty breath of his own before swallowing. Percival chokes back a groan at the sight, imagining getting to put his cock _ right _ there. 

“I order you to take off your tunic, and go to your knees.” Credence says, and his voice is only a little strained.

While the boy presses his lips together, never once breaking the stare, Percival does what he is commanded. 

The speed at which he strips means he only has to look away from Credence for half of a second, before lowering himself to be at eye level with the boy’s groin. “Shall I make you come, my lord?” Percival asks, both his hands rising to caress from Credence’s ankles to his knees, then stopping mid thigh, his thumbs rubbing teasing circles into the heated damp skin. 

Percival hears a goddamned _ whimper _ fall from the boy’s lips, and Credence nods jerkily, opening his legs wider, “Please.”

“Have you done this before?” He asks, forgetting the address, and not giving a damn. Credence shakes his head. “Never.”

_ He _ is _ a virgin _, Percival’s brain supplies at once, and he can’t help the groan that emerges from his throat as he ducks down to press his lips against the inside of Credence’s left knee. “Fuck me, christ. Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks, although it would pain him to stop at this point. Percival can see the boy’s cock weeping clear fluid down the shaft, as it rests on his stomach, plumping more with every moment that passes. 

Credence nods, grabbing for him, fingers thrusting into the longer strands on the top of his head, and Percival leans into the touch, as if he’s a cat being petted. “Please.” The boy whispers, and that’s all the permission he needs. 

Percival slides both of his hands under Credence’s thighs, and pulls him closer, while kneeling up, so that his mouth meets the boy’s bare hip at the same moment as they jolt skywards.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jenna marbles voice* DDDDDDOuble update

* * *

Credence’s head falls back into the bed, his vision blurring and going double, all from the touch of Graves’ lips to an innocent stretch of skin, parallel to his cock, the man’s nose not quite grazing against his navel. 

By the time the heat of Graves’ exhalation actually makes contact with the sensitive skin on the crown of his cock, Credence can’t hold in the small noise tickling the back of his throat. It comes out like he’s some sort of dying creature.

The man’s lips part, and warm wetness encircles the tip of him, before dragging a line down his shaft, toying with his balls. Credence’s free hand grips the sheets, and his hips thrust minutely, unconscious movements as his body tries to get any sort of friction on his cock. 

Graves has a strong arm braced across his waist within seconds, pinning Credence’s body down, halting any further attempts to throw the man off. “I’ll suck you off when I’m good and ready,  _ my lord _ .” Graves says, or rather,  _ growls _ into his skin, his voice vibrating into Credence’s cleft, sending further heat to coil in his gut, his cock full on  _ throbbing _ , desperate for any sort of contact. “Oh please, oh god.” Credence whines, as Graves’ hand just pets over the side of his waist, bringing about further delicious agony. He would normally just give in to the urge and touch himself at this point, but Credence  _ really _ wants Graves to do it. He wants to feel the man’s mouth  _ on _ him before accepting the temptation. 

As he gapes up at the ceiling like a drowned fish, Credence feels Graves starting to move up again, releasing both his testicles from the torturous licks and long wet laps of his tongue, suckling kisses on his inner thighs.

The man changes direction in favor of suddenly taking Credence’s cock halfway down his throat. 

“Oh my  _ god.” _ He fairly shouts, and then Graves’ free hand slides up his chest to flick at his nipples, alternating the stimulation between them both as he swallows around Credence’s cock, tongue wickedly pressing into the slit, before curling underneath the head, rubbing at the prominent vein. “I’m-I can’t, please, Mister Graves, Graves,  _ Graves _ !”

Credence is full on sobbing in ecstasy as the man retreats once more, framing his waist with both hands, letting his cock slip free to slap onto his stomach, clammy wet with Graves’ saliva. “Yes? What is it, my lord?” 

He thinks he can hear the teasing lilt in the man’s voice, and surely he’s dying with need too, aching for some relief of his own. “I want you to kiss me when I come.” Credence says, in his most authoritative tone, which is barely that at all, more like a whispered plea. Graves rises, getting up off his knees, climbing onto the bed to straddle Credence’s waist so that he can bend over and press their lips together. The man reaches down between their bodies, fisting his cock within seconds, jerking Credence’s length hard and fast, keeping his squirming movements to a minimum, thanks to the warriors full body weight pinning him down. 

Credence’s back arches and his hands grab for the man’s shoulders roughly, nails digging in, all in vain, as Graves’ callous rough hand brings him off with the perfect amount of friction, his orgasm crashes through his body, forcing him to break the kiss so he can shout with relief. The man shudders over him, his fist growing slicker from Credence’s release, as the man continues to touch him, even while the pleasure ebbs away, his nerves are tingling with his aftershocks. 

Finally Graves stops touching him when Credence feels on the verge of screaming from too much, overwhelmed and hypersensitive. He gasps for air, looking down to see Graves touching  _ himself _ , strokes aided by the wet glide of Credence’s come, white contrasting on his tanned skin, cock flushed nearly purple with need, the man doesn’t go stiff, not for a few long moments, during which he pants heavily, and stares down at his body.

Credence’s jaw drops open even as he looks up at Graves, trying to silently tell him it’s okay, he can take his climax too.

Their eyes meet, and that seems to be enough, the dam breaks, the man’s body goes stiff, and he groans loudly, hand still jerking over his cock, spilling onto Credence’s stomach and shooting up to his chest, warm wet splatters of come painting his skin. Once landed and cooling sticky on his body, it’s nearly invisible. 

Credence is somehow still breathing just as hard as Graves, reaching down to touch over his ribs, dragging his fingers through the mess, before bringing that hand up to his lips, gathering a taste of the man’s release. 

Graves doesn’t give him much more time, lowering himself to grab another kiss, his hands still wet with  _ Credence’s _ come, he feels the man pinning his wrists to the bed, hips rocking with phantom thrusts. 

“Was that good for you, my lord? Did I please you?” Graves breathes against his mouth, teeth worrying Credence’s bottom lip, sending a surge of wicked pleasure through his spent body. He shivers from it. “Yes, it was incredible.” 

He sighs, and Graves seems to be smiling against his cheek, trailing kisses from his jaw down to his neck, biting the juncture of his collarbone, forcing Credence to cry out from both shock and impossible delight. The man proceeds to make his way back down Credence’s stomach, cleaning up the mess of his own come, each swirling lick of his tongue just a reminder of how good it felt to spend inside of Graves’ mouth. 

“Good. Glad I was able to make your first time memorable.” Graves smirks up at him, almost back down between his thighs again, before he begins to roll off Credence’s body. 

With his hands newly freed, he reaches out, grabbing one of the man’s wrists, “Wait.” 

Graves blinks over at him, “What is it?” 

“Surely that’s not it? I somehow thought there was more involved with sex. Coupling, they call it.” Credence says.

He feels lightheaded, from just suggesting that Graves do more, while wondering what  _ more _ means exactly. 

The man tilts his head, one of his thick eyebrows lifting in question. 

“Well, yes. There’s plenty more. Are you suggesting you would give me additional ‘firsts’ for you? What happens when I slip up on the arena floor, and you lose your warrior? I should be replaceable, to a point. Don’t you think?” 

Graves speaks so matter-of-factly, his tone detached and cold, it makes Credence shiver for a whole different reason. “ _ No!”  _ He fairly shouts, and the man just smirks at Credence, but now it’s a razor edged weapon, an expression meant to distance himself. “Don’t be foolish.” Graves extracts himself from Credence’s flimsy grip, and walks, no, more like staggers to the bathroom, as he follows, much slower, legs aching, muscles having turned to pudding. 

He can’t help calling out to the man, 

“Wait, I promised I would protect you. I’ll get you the best armour, the toughest weaponry. Whatever you need. Normally you would have it anyway. So that we can gain an edge in the betting pool, but if it’s a question of your safety-”

* * *

Percival cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. One orgasm and suddenly you’re concerned with my well-being. It’s just the endorphin rush. It’ll pass.” He ignores how Credence gapes at him in evident shock, and proceeds to wipe himself down with a washrag, before rinsing it out and walking over to swipe the boy’s chest clean from the remains of his semen. Percival tries to keep his movements methodical, going for professional, maintaining a stone faced expression, doing his best not to display any of the yearning his body is screaming with. 

Percival didn’t climb on top of Credence just for the sake of the view, although it was more than pleasing to the eye, he had been trying to hint at how much they could both enjoy some penetration. Poor little virginal Credence didn’t really last long enough for Percival to bring up that idea, and he wasn’t about to beg for seconds. 

“Stop. Where do you think you’re going?” Credence says, a sharp edge to his voice. 

Percival glances up at him, midway through rinsing the washrag for the last time, wringing it out over the tub, draping it over the edge. “Oh, kitty’s got claws, have we?” He says, before attempting to walk past the boy. 

He fails, miserably, as Credence snags his arm and forces him to turn around. 

Percival only goes because resisting would mean hurting the boy, and he’s not really in the mood to be thrown back in the stocks for damaging his patron in the heat of the moment. He faces Credence with a smug grin only to rear back in surprise as the palm of the boy’s free hand connects with his face, the noise of the slap ringing in his ears, as well as around the room. He clutches his cheek mostly in shock, not so much pain.  _ Claws _ indeed. Percival is almost proud.

“Don’t you ever speak to me like that.” Credence says, looking angry, more so than Percival thinks he’s ever seen him. 

Defiant, yes, uninterested, sure, never angry. “Forgive me, my lord.” He replies quietly, and the boy huffs. 

“You’re not to share my bed tonight, not  _ ever _ . Do you hear me? You’ll sleep on the floor. Like the dog that you are.”

Percival smirks. “Good. Glad to hear you’re finally being honest with yourself about what  _ this _ is, my lord. Goodnight.” 

The boy lets go of him, albeit reluctantly, he can tell, allowing him to walk out of the room back towards the bed. 

Percival takes up residence on the patch of floor between the couch and the bed, purposefully blocking the path towards the exit from the bedroom, which forces Credence to speak to him shortly thereafter, to get him to move. 

He does so, trying not to feel too smug, curling up on the couch, facing away from the boy’s bed, glaring a virtual hole through the back of the piece of furniture, falling asleep somewhere around dawn. 

This brings his missed meal count up to three, if he’s to count the lunch before being chosen, then dinner, now breakfast. Shame he had to waste all of that seed in a damp washrag rather than down his throat, he thinks bemusedly.

But as luck would have it, for the rest of the week, Percival’s time is spent mostly outside of the Goldstein estate, except for nights, which he spends on the couch inside of Credence’s bed chamber. 

He never ends up getting his own chambers after all. Percival suspects Credence wants to be able to keep an eye on him. As if he would ever attempt to solicit another family member. 

From then on, all of his days and afternoons after that first day are dedicated to practicing for Gladiator matches. 

Percival eats well enough inside of the arena, thanks to his status, and who his sponsor is. 

His first battle comes up quick, and Percival is given next to no warning, even if Credence and his family  _ are _ alerted to it. Percival is fitted with custom made armor, handed a fancy sword that’s electrified, sharpened to a microscopic blade, along with a shield that absorbs all impact with barely a shudder. Walking out into the arena, half past six in the evening, barely a week since accepting Credence’s patronage, Percival has the fight of his life. 

Going up against a man who’s half machine, it hardly seems fair, but then again, he’s got advanced weapons, expensive armor. Percival has the resources most people only dream about, while this poor creature has only hope, and the loss of another limb to look forward to should he lose. 

However, Percival never lets the details of his contract slip far from his mind. He’s going out there to win this.

Twelve fights, and one to grow on, are all he needs to win in order to earn his freedom, and go after his revenge. 

With his goal clear, Percival fights, undeniably brutal, freely drawing real blood and synth blood alike, until his opponent is drawn and quartered, the man severed from machine in a poetic sort of death. 

It may be far from just, though it was a fair battle.

Percival raises his sword in the air, and takes in the roaring of the crowd, with eyes only for Credence in his box seats.

He can almost  _ feel _ the relief in the boy’s eyes, even if he makes no gesture, his mouth a firm line, Percival can see that Credence’s hands are gripping tightly on the arms of his chair, white knuckled, in an effort to keep from applauding him. 

There is no doubt in his mind that Credence wanted him to win, even if he refuses to demonstrate that fact. 

Percival leaves the battle arena behind, and is ushered to a chariot, flanked by guards, as is the usual routine, taken back to his temporary  _ home _ that is the estate. He is given no medal, tossed no bag of golden coins, simply dumped in front of the mansion, as servants wince and stare at his messy weapons and crimson splattered attire. 

“They didn’t even hose you down?” Someone is saying, their tone distasteful, and Percival glances over to see the woman who loves snakes, lurking just inside the front door. She’s one of Credence’s entourage, he recalls. 

Her name escapes him, as elusive as any real victory from his match. “No my lady, they did not.” Percival doesn’t bother being disrespectful to her, she’s done him no ill, and he owes her no debt. 

“That’s alright. Credence will likely be more than happy to give you a sponge bath. Won’t you,  _ dear?” _ She glances away from him, smirking, as the boy emerges from the mansion seconds later, as Percival hovers uncertainly on the steps. 

He doesn’t really want to drip blood everywhere, but he can’t wait there all night either. 

Credence is dressed in black, though the fabric of his tunic is so sheer Percival can make out every dip and curve of his body, most obscenely, his budded nipples, the swell of his cock even though he’s less aroused than a dead fish.

“Somebody bring me a towel! One that you don’t mind being stained! Guards, take his weapons and clean them off. What are you fools thinking? Letting him show up like this. Idiots.” 

Percival thinks he must be delirious, as Credence seems distressed about more than just his appearance. 

The boy is admirable in his authority, dishing out orders to the men standing on the lawn, flanking the front doors. 

Previously, they had merely been glaring in annoyance at Percival, as if they were some kind of hostile lawn decoration, utterly useless otherwise. Now they jump to attention at Credence’s words, grumbling under their breath as they relieve Percival of his blood soaked weapons and armor. This leaves him in just a plain tunic that may have once been white when he put it on that morning, but is now more of a dirty brown from dried blood that oozed its way under his armor, up his arms, baked dry in the punishing sunlight. 

“Follow me.” Credence snaps, and Percival obeys him, until they’re out of sight of any other servants, before he stops walking, completely still in the middle of the boy’s bedroom. 

“Why are you being so nice to me, my lord?” He says.

“Go get in the tub,” Credence starts, and Percival crosses his arms, quirking a brow at the boy. 

“Why should I? I can clean myself more than adequately. You might pull another dagger on me, and then where would we be?”

Credence walks right up to him, dangerously close to getting a smear of half dried blood on his fine silk tunic, Percival notes with amusement. The boy’s jaw twitches before he starts to speak.

“You will do  _ as  _ I say,  _ because _ I said so.” Credence replies simply, a cold sort of fury to his tone. 

Percival is almost ashamed to admit the mere fact of it arouses him, more than a little. He’s half hard from the battle, now more than ready to just bend Credence over the bed and fucking mount him right there, dirty tunic, dusty sandals and all.

“You wish to serve me, is that it?” Percival finally says, and the boy retreats, his mouth moving silently for a moment, before he regains his composure. “You will do as I say, otherwise, yes, I will shove a dagger between your eyes.” Credence answers. His voice trembles near the end, and Percival aches to call him out on his lie, but nods, then continues on into the bathroom, stripping off his disgusting tunic with methodical movements, praying to anyone who will listen that his cock goes down. It doesn’t, but as luck would have it, Credence doesn’t so much as look at him, starting up the water and putting soap into the tub, his dark eyes staring pointedly at the controls, clearly waiting for Percival to climb in. 

He’s not about to turn his back on the boy, so he slides in feet first. Once his lower body is safely hidden under the water, he turns to face Credence with open arms, draping them over the edge of the tub. 

Percival doesn’t have to wait long before the boy moves with all the swiftness of a thrown whip, fisting his tunic in both hands to tear it in half, baring his body to his stunned gaze for a moment, then Credence is climbing into the tub, settling atop his lap, water splashing over the sides in waves. 

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he merely grasps the cold marble that much harder, gritting his teeth, watching as Credence squirms around over him, his erection no longer a well kept secret. “What are you doing, my lord?” Percival chokes out, and the boy shudders with obvious pleasure, whether from the heat of the water, or his position over his cock. “I’m going to ensure you get clean, what better way to do so than from right here?” Credence asks, running both hands down Percival’s chest, shifting up on his knees so he can easily grasp at his cock. 

He looks up to the ceiling, half terrified, half on the verge of coming already, from the combined sensations of hot water caressing his sore muscles, paired obscenely with Credence’s hands determined in their sandwiching grip of Percival’s length. “You didn’t have to climb in here with me - oomph!” His protesting is quickly cut off by the boy’s lips pressing against his, and he allows his eyes to fall shut, relaxing into the kiss, while Credence’s hands work him over, turning his legs to jelly. Percival is still very close to coming, so he grabs both sides of the boy’s waist, gripping  _ hard _ , ensuring Credence is paying attention. 

Percival bites his bottom lip, and the boy lets out a mewling cry, gasping at him, letting go of his cock immediately. 

“Did I hurt you?” Credence asks, looking painfully young, the wide eyed innocent Percival  _ knows _ that he is deep down.

The boy may not apologize for their argument earlier in the week, but it seems, his way of saying sorry is far better than mere words. “No, you didn’t, my lord. I just feel as if I may finish if you keep this up. We aren’t in here for that.” 

Credence’s eyelids grow heavy, long dark lashes grazing his pale cheeks, going pink with a blush. 

His hands splay flat on Percival’s chest, stroking over the damp hair framing his nipples.

“We  _ are _ in the bath to clean you up, so that we may partake in more pleasures of the flesh, are we not?” Credence asks, and Percival’s brows lift in unison. “Oh,  _ are _ we?” One of Credence’s hands slides back down into the water, between his legs, jerking at his cock once more, faster, his grip firmer, and Percival’s hips jolt automatically, chasing that bliss.

“I’ve been researching things we can do. So I know that want to use my mouth on you.” The boy tells him, and Percival’s throat itches with a moan, he no longer wants to hold it back, so he doesn’t. 

“And what did you learn about putting a man’s prick in your mouth once he’s already spent?” He drops the formality, because frankly he’s beyond caring and far from logical thought as Credence keeps touching him, pausing every so often to keep him on the edge. Percival can see how  _ dark _ the boy’s eyes are, pupils dilated fully, and he knows if he were to glance down, there’s little chance Credence’s cock wouldn't be pointing straight up at him. 

“I mean lower, in between your legs, on that place where men penetrate one another.” The boy says, barely above a whisper, and Percival’s head falls back. The pain from hitting the edge of the tub crashes into the pleasure that is hearing Credence say such things, combining with a purposeful stroke on Percival’s cock, the boy twisting his hand just right, thumb swiping over the slit, bringing him off in a heart stopping instant. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know you're probably screaming about me clogging the tag lmao, but god, let me live!!!

* * *

As the water clouds with the man’s release, Credence leans forward and ducks down to press his mouth against the curve of Graves’ jaw, kissing and biting all at the same time, intent on leaving a mark only he will know the cause of. 

The man’s beard disguises it mostly, making it appear more like a bruise from his fight, and Credence smiles against his cheek, feeling Graves’ body trembling with aftershocks as he continues to hold the man’s prick. 

“Enough, stop.” the man’s voice rasps, and Credence lets go of him in favor of rocking forward, grinding himself into the hard planes of Graves’ abs, his own cock leaking precum, vanishing into the bathwater. 

Both of Graves’ hands start to curl around his waist, keeping him close, helping Credence on his mission to mindlessly hump against the man’s stomach. 

“I don’t want to come here, like this,” He breathes into the side of Graves’ neck. “And why not?” 

Credence can hear the man asking, and he whimpers a little. “I want to feel you inside me first.” He says. 

“You want me to  _ penetrate _ you?” Graves asks, and Credence nods. “Yes, yes, oh god, please. I order you.” 

He finishes with a huff for effect, and Credence can hear the man letting out a sigh. 

“I would have thought you’d prefer I rode you. But hey, you’re the boss though.” Graves tells him, and Credence clings to him, feeling both hands slipping down, grasping for his asscheeks, squeezing and groping them together. 

He turns his head to kiss Graves’ mouth, barely hitting the side of his lips, and then the man puts a hand between their bodies. Credence almost squeaks as the man’s palm encloses around his cock, tugging swiftly, bringing him off in a sudden moment, as white overtakes his vision, his body spasms in Graves’ embrace, still straddling his lap. 

Water splashes loud and messy between their chests, while the man milks Credence’s cock for all he has, adding to the smears of obscene white in and amongst the dirty bathwater. He collapses into Graves’ chest, and the man moves around to slap his hand on the controls, draining the water and replacing it with a fresh tubful, steaming hot. 

Credence thinks he could fall asleep like this, but Graves reminds him with a soft murmur that, 

“We’re not done yet. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said.” Credence didn’t forget either. 

With them both cleaned up, Graves leads the way to the towels, hoisting him up out of the water like he weighs nothing. Compared to the behemoth that the man fought that afternoon, perhaps Credence really  _ is _ light as a feather.

Graves towels him off and ruffles his hair so that it’s not dripping, only damp, before nudging him out of the bathroom, towards the bed. Credence goes, determinedly climbing onto it and going straight for his bedside cabinet full of goodies. 

To think, three days ago he thought this would never happen. 

Credence has been unspeakably rude to Graves, and the man simply… forgives him. 

Perhaps he felt like he  _ had _ to, being Credence’s champion. He swallows past the guilt, trying not to think about that angle. 

As Graves joins him on the bed, coming up behind him to kiss his bare shoulder, Credence shudders, fighting the urge to smile, and swoon with contentment. “Whatcha got there?” Graves asks, and he turns around to show the man.

“It’s my favorite flavored lubricant. Non-sticky, stays wet longer. You know the sales pitch.” Graves eyes it suspiciously.

Credence passes the bottle over, and the man squints at the fine print. “Cherry vanilla? How apt.” 

Credence rolls his eyes. “I’m not the one who’s gonna be eaten out.” He says. 

Graves blinks at him, figuring it out quickly enough. “Oh, so you’re gonna do me, then I fuck you?”

Credence nods. “Yeah. I've been reading about it. You pleasure the one who’s going to top, like this. Then it’s more satisfying for them.” Graves flicks the cap open, taking a sniff. 

He doesn’t flinch at the artificial sweeteners like Credence expects, he actually looks intrigued. 

“And what if I wanted to eat you out first? Don’t I need to please you? You did promise me my weapons in exchange for that.” the man says, quirking one of those heavy brows at him. 

Credence can’t really argue, because he’s kind of right. “I mean… yes, but I’m in charge.” He says. 

Graves full on rolls his eyes  _ at _ him. “Get on your stomach.” Credence gawks at him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” the man says, and Credence can’t think of a reason to argue, considering how loud his mind is telling him to comply, to give in, allow himself to be pampered, as he  _ deserves _ . 

He snags one of the smaller but plump pillows, and tucks it under his hips, rolling onto his stomach, arms bent at the elbow, palms flat on the bed. Credence can’t see what Graves is doing like this, but he can  _ feel _ everything. 

From the loud snap of lube being squeezed onto the man’s palm, to the ruffling of the sheets as Graves crawls into place behind him, his body hot against the back of Credence’s thighs. 

He feels horribly exposed, just before two thick fingers stroke down his cleft, leaving a wet trail behind. It’s cold.

The lube, Credence thinks. Graves doesn’t do anything for a long heart stopping moment, until suddenly  _ heat _ chases the cold slick sensation, and he realizes the man is putting his  _ tongue _ where he touched, swiping up the lube, and dipping right into the spot  _ no _ one has ever touched. He’s hardly even played with himself there. 

Graves doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, pressing  _ in _ , thrusting his tongue into Credence’s tight hole, while his hand, still wet with lube, starts to caress his testicles. It’s such a unique sensation, he’s not sure how to react, except to push his ass backwards, begging for more without a word. 

Credence can already feel himself growing hard again, cock flush against the pillow, trapped between the silky fabric of its case and his stomach, heaving with every breath, as Graves continues to drive his wicked tongue as deep as he can into his ass. Before long, he’s sure the man’s jaw must be going numb, and Graves’ mouth is replaced by his fingers, two of them spearing into Credence, curling  _ deep _ into him, rubbing against something that makes his jaw drop, and his cock throb. “Oh god, oh fuck-” He curses, the man’s mouth suddenly kisses him sharply, biting into the swell of his buttock. 

Credence cries out, and his vision goes dark as he closes his eyes, riding out a sudden wave of pleasure that starts between his legs, travelling up his hole, before exploding out through his entire body, culminating in his cock pulsing out his release into the pillow, soaking into the fabric against his skin. 

Graves pants into his lower back, crawling his way up Credence’s body, until he’s grinding his cock between his legs, and begging to be let in. “Do it, do it, I need you to fuck me.” Credence gasps, and Graves obeys, withdrawing his fingers to replace them with something  _ hotter _ , wider and more blunt, yet just as welcome.

His body accepts the foreign intrusion with ease from so much slick, as Credence finds another peak shortly after.

He’s shuddering against the mattress, open mouth drooling into the sheets, his arms having given up trying to keep him from being pounded into the bed. 

Graves doesn’t fuck him very hard or with any rough movements, but he is thrusting deep, with no mercy, little to no breaks in between, until Credence is mostly delirious from pleasure, coming again, and again. Eventually his cock is dry, sensitive flesh just being ground against the pillow still clenched in between his thighs. 

Graves’ body goes still, his hips flush to Credence’s ass, as warmth floods his hole, and he knows the man has found his own release. He feels Graves draped over his body, but there’s no discomfort from the knowledge. 

In fact, he finds that the weight of the man atop his back is soothing, and Credence almost cries out from the loss when Graves has to move. “We’re both filthy, I’m sure.” The man says, trying to shush him, and Credence just shakes his head, squirming around like some kind of headless snake. “No, no don’t go.” Credence says, voice raspy.

He grabs for Graves’ hand, and pulls him back into the bed, kissing him fiercely, letting the man put him flat on his back, kneeling between his spread thighs. He tastes sweet cherry, mixed with sweat, and something that must be from his essence, on Graves’ tongue. Credence moans. “I don’t care about the mess. Stay with me. Please.”

He chokes on a gasp, while more hot tears fall down his cheeks, dampening his hair. Graves shushes him again, and then nods, kissing him one final time before curling into his side, resting his head on Credence’s chest. “Alright, I’ll stay.”

It’s morning before Credence stirs again, and Graves is gone. The place between his legs is clean, the pillow he’d ruined also seems to be missing. When he sits up, trying to look for the man, Credence spots him, tucked away in the corner, sleeping on the couch, half tucked under a blanket. He can’t help feeling a little hurt. Graves should have slept in his bed. But he supposes, at least the man didn’t leave until Credence fell asleep, so it could have been worse. 

He staggers out of his bed, and brings a small blanket with him, wrapping it around himself to hide his nudity, as well as his morning arousal. 

Credence sits at the far end of the couch, and pets a hand over Graves’ feet, both of which stick out of his blanket. “Hey.”

As Graves returns to consciousness much slower, and Credence wonders how awful and uncomfortable it is to sleep on this couch for such a bulky man. “Morning sunshine… I mean, m’lord.” the man stifles a yawn, and Credence smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we've got some 'ass worship' here a day early for kinktober!  
but don't worry this isn't my real entry for day #2 ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big BIg Warning here, the "graphic violence tag" rears its ugly head near the end of this chapter!!!  
skip to end notes for details!!! spoilers abound!!!

“Are you going to let me keep my promise… now?” the boy asks, and Percival blinks, still barely awake, one foot firmly in dreamland, convinced he’s imagining this. 

“What’s that now? What’re you talking about?” He asks, as Credence just continues to sit there, perched by his feet, naked but for a blanket slipping down and off one shoulder, looking as demure as an angel, but with a devilish gleam to his dark eyes. “You gonna let me eat you out, Mister Graves? Please?” the boy asks, and Percival is _ awake _ now, oh yes.

“Uh-h-h, are you sure about that?” Percival replies, watching as Credence very purposefully licks his lips, getting them pink and shiny, irresistible. 

“Yes. You did me quite easily. Kissed me afterwards too. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” The boy says, and Percival’s cock actually twitches under the cavern of the blanket. “Oh... mhm, yes. Disgusting, wasn’t it?” 

Credence all but pounces on him, and if not for the lightning fast reflexes of Percival grabbing the back of the couch, they’d have tumbled off onto the floor. “It’s disgustingly _ hot _, Mister Graves.” the boy murmurs, just before laying one on him, kissing him so hard he half forgets his own name, and nearly asks Credence to use his surname. 

It’s a moment of weakness. As it is, the boy is perched in his lap now, halfway looming atop him, while on the verge of slipping down between his legs to get at what he wants from Percival. 

“You really gonna put your mouth on me there? That’s what you want? To shove your tongue in my ass? Fuck me with it?” He pants out, every other word punctuated with a kiss. 

Credence whines and moans softly, nodding against him, “Yeah, yeah I do.” the boy starts rocking his hips down, grinding into Percival’s painfully obvious erection. “Where do you want me? On the bed? Bent over the couch? Tell me baby.” 

He manages to ask, the pet name falling from his lips before he even has time to think about why it’s a bad idea. 

But Credence just mewls, gasping into another kiss as Percival’s hands slip back, squeezing over his plush ass, in an attempt to distract the boy. Those plush globes are easy to find through the thin blanket, and thankfully it works. 

Credence doesn’t criticize him for such an indulgence as a pet name. He seems far too aroused and twitchy.

“In the shower. Let’s get you cleaned for the day.” the boy tells him with a hint of a whine, and Percival nods, mouth agape as he kisses down Credence’s neck, “Yes, yes, alright, let’s go, my lord. As you wish.” 

Inside the bathroom, both of their blankets shed, Percival trails behind Credence, eyeing that pale and gorgeous ass, marveling at the fact he’s been _ there _ , put his cock in _ that _, and now it’s his turn to get a pounding of sorts. 

Beneath the hot water, the boy kisses him with all of the purity of his intentions, his lips tasting very much like _ ‘sorry,’ _ and Percival licks into Credence’s mouth, in lieu of accepting that apology. “Turn around.” Credence murmurs, and Percival does so, obeying his sponsor. He braces himself against the tile walls, which, rather than remaining slick, adjust to his touch, understanding he needs a grip, as the floor beneath them both grows squishy and forgiving, while sprouting soft texture.

The closest thing Percival can compare it to is a sandy beach, dipping under his feet as he adjusts his stance.

Credence goes to his knees right behind him, scattering kisses the whole way; treasuring scars, bullet wounds healed on his hips, his left shoulder, a jagged line from a knife on his right thigh, spreading up his flank to curve just under his hip. The first touch is a ghosting one, a hand petting between his thighs, teasing at his balls, thumb rubbing over his taint, then Credence is just _ there _, going for it, pressing a kiss to Percival’s hole. 

His jaw drops as he feels the unmistakable wet warmth of the boy’s tongue swirling around the pucker of his rim, while both of Credence’s hands grip firmly on Percival’s waist, keeping him from pulling away. As if he’d go anywhere.

There’s nowhere on earth that Percival would rather be. 

When Credence retreats, he doesn’t let go of him, the boy simply turns his cheek, and sucks a biting kiss onto the swell of Percival’s left buttock. He moans, unable to help himself, just as one of Credence’s hands slides around, and grabs for his cock, hard and curving up into his stomach, previously only jutting out into empty air, now he’s jerking his hips forward. Percival is helpless, unable to resist chasing that sensation, caught between Credence’s hot wicked tongue, the firm strokes of his silky soft hand. 

Somehow Percival is already on the verge of climax, before anything has so much as slid in past the outer rim of his hole. 

As if reading his mind, Credence presses back into his cleft, deeply kissing Percival’s ass. 

The boy keeps his jaw loose, lips and tongue sloppy against Percival’s hole, as Credence’s slim fingered hand begins moving faster, he’s awash in sensation, while the water pounds into the back of his neck. 

He wishes that it could be Credence’s kisses instead, but Percival’s overwhelmed, deciding he much prefers the boy’s mouth right where it is. The longer Credence works him over, the more Percival’s cock drools precum, until suddenly the boy’s other hand leaves his hip, those long fingers pressing, encircling, then _ pushing _ in his hole, first one, then another. 

Before Percival can warn Credence about how close he is, the boy is rubbing right into the spot that makes his eyes cross, while pulling _ just _ right on his cock, and he’s lost, fallen over the edge into oblivion. “Oh god, oh fuck… my l-o-r-d…” Percival grunts out, coming into Credence’s hand, spilling between the boy’s fingers, splattering his release onto the tile, pressing his forehead hard against the back of his arm. His hips convulse through phantom thrusts as Credence holds onto Percival’s shuddering body as best he can.

He feels another biting kiss being pressed to the opposite asscheek, and that’s when Percival shouts through a second wave, impossibly climbing to orgasm again, while Credence manages to slip in another finger, spearing him open, pinning him to the wall like a frantic butterfly. Before Percival can say anything, he feels the boy getting to his feet, panting into the back of his neck, using those few inches of height to his advantage. 

“Can I fuck you? Please?” Credence breathes, wetly kissing his shoulder, and Percival can only nod, “Yes, yes, order me.” 

“Let me _ fuck _ you, Mister Graves.” The boy says, voice raspy from lust. 

For an answer, Percival pushes back against him, grabbing one of Credence’s hands and placing it on his neck, curling those slender fingers around his throat. “Do it.”

The boy has nothing to use as lube, nothing but his own spit, and though Percival is already mentally preparing for significant discomfort, Credence makes a noise of realization. The boy’s free hand reaches past him, and Percival catches sight of Credence pumping something out onto the flat of his palm, slipping it back behind his waist, then pressing in. 

The slicked slow push of the boy’s girthy cock is somehow too much and not enough all at once.

Percival breathes deeply, slow, in and out, as Credence gives him more, thrusting his hips with minute rocking motions, until the burning ache between his legs is replaced by a yearning need. “That’s it, there you go, kitten.” Percival grunts, and all Credence can do is whimper against him, the hand on his neck tightening wonderfully. Just like he wanted.

Percival grows lightheaded as the boy starts moving faster, fucking into him with loud wet slaps of skin against skin, Credence’s movements become ragged, sloppy, “I’m gonna come inside of you, I’m gonna fill you with my seed.” 

Percival can hear the boy saying, dimly. He nods, “That’s right, go on, my lord.” Credence shudders violently, seemingly spurred on by his words, going stiff at Percival’s back, holding on to him until his aftershocks have finished quaking through him, all goes still. The boy’s hand slips off his neck as he pulls out, and Percival turns around to half catch him before his knees give out. 

They both go to the shower floor together, and Credence gazes up at him, glassy eyed from pleasure. 

Percival can feel the boy’s come slipping back out of him, oozing between his thighs, a possessive sort of sensation, and yet all he can think of is how he’d rather be the possessive one. Credence blinks away the shower water, making it look like tears are wetting his lashes, smiling dreamily at Percival. 

“Was it good? Did I hurt you?” the boy asks, voice a soft whisper, painfully sweet. 

Percival shushes him, petting his hair, stroking it back from his face, rubbing his thumb across that red swollen bottom lip. “Yes, and it was magical. It’s a good hurt.”

Credence reaches up and touches his neck, oh so very gently traces the bruises Percival knows must be obvious.

“I can heal that, we have a med kit.” he says. 

Percival shakes his head. “I don’t want you to. I want to keep it as a token of your affection, if I may.” 

The boy nods, and then snuggles into his chest. “Another minute. Then we can go to breakfast together.” 

Percival laughs. “Alright. If you insist.” 

Credence frowns adorably, “I _ do. _”

It’s the memory of that morning in the shower that helps Percival through the next week of training and battles. 

He’s next scheduled to fight someone nicknamed ‘the destroyer,’ and all he can do is laugh. 

Percival has top of the line tech, armor that’s light as a feather, yet tougher than steel. No one can possibly hurt him.

He’s won every battle so far, just as planned. Each match ends with his opponent either dead or bleeding out on the dirt. 

Percival steps out onto the arena floor and surveys the landscape. 

He can see Credence watching, as always, from his perch in the skybox, and Percival itches to wave to him, but there has to be a sense of distance, separation between sponsor and warrior. 

He does not dare let his feelings get the better of him, though they are there, hardly skin deep. 

Every time Percival returns to the Goldstein estate, he and Credence share further intimacies of the flesh, and the mind, afterwards, while lying together, entangled in the dark, beneath soft sheets and warm blankets. 

To say he is falling in love with the boy would be an understatement, as if one star in the sky is complete without the rest of the galaxy. 

Percival has developed dangerous feelings for Credence, and he must keep them to himself, for both of their safeties. 

Were he to be discovered, Percival could be sent away, or punished. Credence would end up with far less trouble, after all, for a boy his age, infatuation is to be expected, even encouraged. Sowing his wild oats, so to speak.

However, his family most likely will frown upon such a dalliance, thanks to Percival’s status as a slave, successful battles in the arena notwithstanding, regardless of the fact being that there is no pregnancy risk with their fling.

He draws his blade and forces himself to think of the triumph that lies ahead of him. 

Three more battles remain, two after this day, and then Percival is a free man. 

His fingers crave blood belonging to a certain white blond haired man, and he sets his jaw, watching the door beginning to rise, unleashing his opponent. What emerges is barely human, nor machine either. 

This is some kind of mangled science experiment, what was once a man, crossbred and gene spliced with some kind of Nordic giant. Percival has mere seconds to jump out of the way of his first charge, rolling to emerge into a crouch, breathing hard already. 

The size advantage is actually a weakness, as long as Percival can manage to continue evading his lunges, he’ll wear the monstrous creature out. By the time he gets close enough to take a swing at one of those massive limbs, he realizes he’s made a fatal miscalculation. 

Percival shouldn’t be on the offensive, for once, he needs to be worried about defending the bits of him that don’t fit behind his shield, which although fairly big, it of course does not encompass his entire body. 

It’s a little too late to figure this out. 

Within seconds, his arm is already trailing blood from a precisely placed swing, and Percival is forced to drop his sword, his hand going numb, in favor of lifting the shield, warding off another sudden blow. 

He takes off running now, trying to put frantic distance between himself and the monster, but Percival misses a rock and trips. He tries to roll, to preserve some momentum, throwing his weight into the tuck, forcing himself away, away. 

Percival’s shoulder hits the ground, the injured part of his arm slamming into the dirt, as a grunt of pain leaves him, the crowd goes wild, screaming and roaring in alternative seconds. 

His fate will not be decided by this creature, this half man, half beast. Percival lifts his shield, warring off another blow. But with his sword too far away and no other weapons at his disposal, things start to turn, the battle falling towards the beast’s favor. Percival tries to get up, to continue running, but when he pushes off the ground, he cries out. 

His arm is freely bleeding, far too much, too fast. Another swing of the monsters club sends his shield flying. 

Percival kicks off the ground, getting to his feet only to be hit in the small of his back, and he feels his knees give out.

This is it then. Percival can barely hear anything above the thundering of his heartbeat, frantically pumping blood out of the wound on his arm. His own body working against him, trying to kill him as good as this beast has started to.

Percival rolls over, onto his throbbing back and looks up at the sky, taking in the bright clear blue of the stadium’s artificial recreation on the roof, and then he closes his eyes, accepting the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: 1/28/2020 indefinitely hiatusing this
> 
> Percy meets more than his match and is dealt what should by all rights be a killing blow by his opposing fighter, it fades to black before we know how badly he's hurt.
> 
> guess you could call this a cliffhanger? :\\\\\


End file.
